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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018275">(A) Dream is a Soft Place to Land</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuffMonster/pseuds/PuffMonster'>PuffMonster</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adoption, Age Swap, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Dream's family is wholesome, Drugs, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, George is an angsty boi, George's parents die ;(, Getting Together, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Possible smut in the future?, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Unrequited Crush, no beta we die like people</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:41:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuffMonster/pseuds/PuffMonster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>George has been flickering aimlessly about since the untimely death of his parents. His world turns on its axis as he gets adopted by a strange, emotionally constipated billionaire with no time on his hands, and gets relocated from England to America. He struggles with fitting in, but manages as he befriends a boy from his school and falls for the boy's older brother. He had never thought he would be so lucky as to find a family to call his home again, but that was before he knew people like the Harvelle's excisted.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>132</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, guys! I haven't written for quite a while and am therefore a bit anxious about posting again.<br/>Let's get the formalities out of the way, shall we?<br/>George is 12 years old in the present time of the story, Dream 3 years older.<br/>Without spoiling too much I'd like to say, for the people who are maybe a bit antsy about age differences, that the boys probably will indulge in a romantic relationship before George turns 18 - but we will have no smut before he turns legal, thank you very much.<br/>Ehm, I don't think there's more to it. If there is, I'll just add on in notes during the next chapters. I have no idea how long this fic will be - sorry.<br/>I hope you enjoy &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been exactly two years since he had parted ways with his parents at their premature death. His life had changed drastically that snowy November day. They were all cooped up in the old car as they made their way to the local GamestopTM. It had been his request to go, even though he could tell that both his parents were tired. It did not take much to convince them. He wished they had been more resistant. Their drive was cut short when his father, who was driving the car, missed and turn and tried to make up for it. Because of the icy road the car swerved and slammed into a tree. The seatbelt that was wrapped around his small body snapped at impact, sending him crashing through the backseat window of the car and into the cold snow. The sound of the crash had been deafening to his young ears, so loud that he had momentarily lost his hearing and missed the sound of the car blowing up with his parents still unconscious inside it. It was only when he opened his eyes to watch the giant flames engulf the vehicle that he realized what had happened. His parents were gone, and all he could do was watch as the flames reached higher into the darkening sky. The orange glow of the night merged with blue and red. He felt a hand on his shoulder and suddenly the loud sound of sirens pierced through his head. The pain of the loud noise was voluminous for the small boy. The world turned on its axis and his mind was enveloped in darkness, the last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness was a man yelling, “It’s the Davidsons! We found little Georgie!”</p><p> </p><p>It had been exactly two years of bouncing between foster families, never staying one place long enough to call it home, before he was adopted. It was the talk of the orphanage, hell, the talk of the entire western world – American billionaire William Harper’s attention had been brought to the sad story of the young British boy, and after a brief meeting with said boy, he had decided to adopt him. George and his new guardian was the center of the press’ attention for weeks. George had been thrilled when he had first seen his face on the cover of a newspaper. He had shown it to every kid at the orphanage and had slept with it underneath his pillow at night, keeping it close. The magic of being on the cover of the newspaper decreased with every new issue and the increasing suffocating attention random reporters had started to turn his way. George had never liked being the center of attention – he had always suffered from mild social anxiety, and it had only worsened after the accident. His hearing never fully returned. Loud noises or booming crowds would trigger a piercing, high-pitched sound to fill his mind. It became so deafening at times that he was not able to hear anything but the shriek. The shriek had been a constant in his life the two weeks it took for the paperwork to be processed. He had grown so accustomed to the sound that he had started crying when he entered the silent private jet that would take him to America, and the sound had faded into the usual white-noised buzzing.</p><p> </p><p>Life with Mr. Harper was not as George had expected. The man was never home, leaving his butler, Richard, to deal with the small child. Richard was excellent with children, George found, but he was busy with running the household, making sure everything was in order and that the rest of the staff of the manor were in check. He would take George with him as he tried his best to entertain the child as well as do his job – it was tiring, George could tell. Richard became exponentially more tired as the days went on, the constant awareness of looking out for George draining the old butler. George could not blame him – he had been told, by various foster parents that he was too much to handle; that he had too many problems – so he stopped seeking Richard’s attention. He would come home after school, go straight to his giant room in the even bigger house, sit, and play computer until he fell asleep. Richard would only check on him once per night to bring him dinner.</p><p> </p><p>It had been a bit over a month before Mr. Harper had knocked on George’s bedroom door. At first, George thought he had imagined the soft knocks against the heavy wood of his door. Richard had brought him his dinner that evening – no one else was supposed to interact with him that day that was how it always went. When he heard the knock repeat itself followed by an unfamiliar voice, he knew it was not his imagination playing a trick on him. He paused his game on his pc and shimmied off the chair. He scurried to the door and cracked it open slowly. His eyes widened as he realized he had to crane his neck back to look his guardian in his eyes. “M-Mr. Harper.” George stuttered out nervously and opened the door while he stepped aside to let the man enter.<br/>
Mr. Harper sighed as the door was opened for him. He took a deep breath before stepping inside. “Hi, George,” he stood in the middle of the room, looking nervously around, “can I?” He asked and motioned to the bed.</p><p>George nodded before answering, “Please, sir.”</p><p>Mr. Harper lowered himself on the bed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You know, George, you can just call me William- or, or even better; Will. I don’t like all that Mr. Harper/sir crap.”</p><p>“Of course. Sorry, sir- eh. Sorry, Will.”</p><p>“It’s perfectly fine.” Mr. Harper answered before looking to the side. He was quiet for a while, just taking in the lack of decorations in George’s room. His items were still folded neatly into a small suitcase that was pushed partially underneath the bed. “George.” The sudden break of silence made the small boy jump. He turned his wide gaze back to his guardian. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to talk to you about something. Why don’t you sit down?” Mr. Harper continued after George sat down next to him on the bed. “I got a call from your school today. Your teacher is worried about – says you don’t interact with the other children in your grade.” George hummed in acknowledgement. Mr. Harper noted that he had started twiddling his thumbs, “Do you find it difficult making new friends?”<br/>
“I haven’t really tried. I prefer being alone.” George answered shortly.</p><p>Mr. Harper let out a small noise in agreement. “That may be, but it’s not ideal for a boy your age to spend all his time alone.” He left nothing to be argued, “Your teacher also informed me that Caleb Harvelle is having a birthday party tomorrow after school. You’re gonna go.”</p><p> </p><p>George stood in the Harvelle’s big backyard, a brownish colored balloon in his right hand as he looked around. The backyard was filled with his classmates. He felt like he was drowning in the midst of all the sounds around him. The ringing in his ear had increased since his arrival at the party. The spacious garden felt suffocating to the small boy and the panic kicked in when all sound but the high-pitched ringing disappeared. He looked frantically around the garden, searching for sound that matched the running mouths of people around him. Nothing was heard but the loud noise from the accident. George gasped loudly, desperately trying to force air into his hyperaware lungs. His body crumbled in on itself without his consent. He slid to a sitting position in the middle of the backyard as he gasped and coughed, as he choked on the air he was trying to force inside. The ringing got louder and louder and George thought that his head might explode with all the tension that was building up. He clawed at his hair, pulling, trying to get the pressure in his head to lessen, but nothing worked.<br/>
He let out a scream when he felt a hand on each of his shoulders. He was softly, but forcefully unfolded from his fetal position and he was met with warm yellow eyes. The eyes belonged to a beautiful woman. Her expression was kind and warm, her eyebrows scrunched in concern. He could see her mouth move, but he heard nothing, the ringing still drowning everything else out. The woman’s face fell as she must have realized that George was not hearing a word she said. She looked around quickly before sliding her hand into his small one, her other hand tangling softly into his hair. She ushered him up from the ground and slowly led him inside the house. George was following, still trying to slow his breath as they walked through the cozy home. He was led through a big living room and down a hall. They stopped in front of an old door and the woman moved her hand from George’s hair to knock at the door. She pushed the door open and pushed George inside before following and closing the door. The room was dark, only lit up by the unnatural bluish light from two monitors on a desk. A boy was sitting in front of the monitors, turned in his chair to look curiously at George and the woman. He opened his mouth, his eyebrows scrunched up, his expression matching that of the woman. George was moved to a beanbag chair, which was leaning against the big bed in the room. The chair enveloped George’s small body, hugging his frame as the woman’s hands again moved to his face. Her mouth was still running as she tried to communicate with George. He felt bad that he was not able to hear what she was saying. He tried to croak out something; that he could not breathe; that he could not hear her; that he wanted his mum, but nothing came out. The woman ran her hands through his hair again, which seemed to make his breath stutter. She turned around shortly, probably to say something to the boy in the chair. When she turned back around to George, she opened her mouth again, saying something shortly, before sending him a reassuring smile. She got up and walked out the room and closed the door after her.</p><p>“Hey, what’s your name?” The boy in the chair asked. He realized, too, that George did not hear him. “I’m Clay.” He was quiet for a while as he looked at George’s desperate gaze flicker about the room. His eyes stopped, suddenly, as he focused on the light from the monitors behind the boy. The boy noticed and turned in his chair to look at his screen. It showed the escape menu of Minecraft. He clicked the back to game button and leaned over to turn up the volume of the game. George’s world seemed to zoom in on the computer screen and the ringing dived in pitch and made way for the familiar soothing music of Minecraft. He watched as the boy in front of him started to run around the Minecraft world. His avatar was a dark yellow color with a headband around the head. It looked very plain, but George rather liked the simple design choice. The nametag of his avatar read Dream. “Do you play?” The boy’s voice came out steady and strong as he spoke to George.</p><p>George nodded, still too aware of his struggling breathing to form words.</p><p>“I love Minecraft,” Dream said, his voice taking on a wondrous character. “I love how big the world is – exploring is the best.” He kept talking about the game and what aspects of it he especially enjoyed. “What’s your username?”</p><p>“GeorgeeeeeeHD.”</p><p>Dream turned around in his chair to look at the small boy in the beanbag chair. He looked surprised before he cracked a small smirk. “Yeah? That’s not very original, is it?”</p><p>George let out a huff and got up from his chair to stand beside the older boy. “Not very original? At least my name isn’t Dream.” He said, with a small giggle. “What kind of name is that? Should I switch name to Cloud?”</p><p>Dream let out a warm laugh and turned back around to the computer. “Touché, kid.” He started running around the world again, collecting wood at George’s request. After a while, he turned his head slightly to look at George again, “How’s your breathing?” He asked, softly.</p><p>George’s eyes widened. He had not even realized how his breathing had slowed and returned to normal. “It’s- it’s great.”</p><p>“You know, my mom thinks you’re deaf.”</p><p>“I kind of was. For a while, at least.”</p><p>Just then the door opened and in walked Dream’s mom. “Clay, I just got off the pho-,“ she stopped in her tracks as she saw George standing beside her oldest son. “Oh, hi, George. How are you feeling?” She asked. Her voice dropped in volume and pitch as she took in the scene in front of her.</p><p>“I’m feeling better. Thank you.”</p><p>She moved into the room and sat down on Dream’s bed. “That’s good to hear. You had me very worried, there.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No need to be,” she said and cracked a smile. “I’m sure you didn’t do that on purpose, did you?”</p><p>George’s eyes widened. He took a step towards Dream’s mom before speaking, his voice strong as he said; “No, ma’am, I swear, I would never.”</p><p>Dream’s mom let out a small giggle at George’s serious expression and tone. “I know, honey – I was just messing with you. Why don’t you sit down?” She patted the seat of the bed next to her and George felt warmth spread through his body as he sat down close to the woman. “I spoke to your butler, George. I asked him to come and get you. Did you know he had no idea that you suffered from panic attacks?” George bit his lower lip before he nodded. “He sounded very concerned when I told him how I found you. He’s on his way right now.” She moved her arm around George’s small waist and pulled him close, into her side. “Now, we can sit here and watch Clay play on the computer until he arrives, or I can call him again and say that you want to stay a bit longer. What do you want?”</p><p>George was speechless. It had been years since someone had asked about his opinion. He let out a relieved giggle before nodding. “Ye-yeah, I’d like to stay for a while.”</p><p>Dream’s mom smiled widely and hugged him close before getting up. “Perfect, cause I want you to meet Clay’s younger brother in a less stressful environment than at school. Would you be fine saying ‘hi’ to him if I got him in here?” George’s gaze flickered nervously to Dream as pressure started building in his head again. Dream was nodding reassuringly at him, and the pressure in his head decreased slowly. He took a deep breath before nodding. “Great!” She opened the door and yelled out loudly, “Caleb!” before disappearing down the hall.</p><p>“Caleb’s a little asshole, but he’s a good kid.” Dream said.</p><p>George nodded and sat back down in the beanbag chair. He started twiddling his thumbs as he waited for Dream’s mom to return with her youngest son.<br/>
The door opened shortly after. George recognized the boy immediately. They were in the same class after all. He was quite a bit taller than George was, and had blonde hair. He resembled his older brother pretty well, but his face was sharper, more crude. He looked directly at George and his eyebrows rose comically to his hairline. “You’re the kid with the weird accent!” He called out loudly. George cringed and moved to curl in on himself in the chair, but stopped when the boy, Caleb, continued. “It’s so cool. Can you tell me about where you’re from?” he asked excitedly as he joined George in the chair.</p><p>Dream let out a laugh at his younger brother’s antics and shook his head, “Oh, my God, Caleb.” He muttered under his breath. The fondness of his tone made George smile and let out a short giggle before looking back at Caleb.</p><p>“Sure, I’ll tell you about where I’m from.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, second chapter - lets do this!<br/>(I forgot, but the title is from the musical Waitress, 'Soft Place to Land' by Sara Bareilles)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George did not have a lot of experience with heat. He used to stay indoors most summers when he lived in England, shying away from the waves of heat that washed over the island. He had hated the heat, found it too suffocating. Surely, it did not help that the heat seemed to draw people out from their respective houses, milling the streets with laughter, conversation, shouting – <em>noise</em>. He thought summer in England had been bad. Imagine his surprise when summer dreadfully came to Florida and engulfed the state in heat making it hard for George to breathe. He had never experienced a heat that intense, and he would have shied away from it, as he used to in England, had he not been invited to go camping with the Harvelle’s over the duration of a weekend. He yearned after leaving the confinements of the silent and lifeless manor. He moved about the room, collecting t-shirts, shorts, a single cap and sunscreen to stuff in his backpack. He squinted up at his clock, the clock Caleb’s dad, Ryan, had put up for him a week prior, and realized that he was going to get picked up soon.</p><p>It had been a weird day when he had woken up to the entire Harvelle family standing at the manor’s doorstep. Ryan was carrying a few long pieces of wood; Caleb, a measuring stick that he kept poking George in the side with; Dream, a big box of tools; and Lydia, Caleb’s mom, a round dish in one hand, which smelled delicious to George – berries and vanilla – and a thermos in the other hand. George had stood in the doorway, staring with wide eyes until Richard appeared beside him. “How rude – how about inviting your guests inside, Master George?” he had said before softly pushing the boy to the side and opening the door fully for the family.</p><p>Lydia’s smile widened as she stepped inside. “I hope this is okay,” she said, first to Richard, who nodded before helpfully taking her belongings and disappearing into the kitchen, and then she turned to George and kneeled down in front of him. “After returning home yesterday, Caleb wouldn’t stop going on about how dull your room is, Georgie – he says you’re barely out of your suitcase! I just couldn’t bear the thought of you sitting in a big, empty room, so I gathered the family,” she craned her head to the side and flung an arm out to gesture towards the rest of the Harvelle’s, “and here we are!” She finished with a wide smile and ruffled George’s hair before standing back up.</p><p>George was blinking with comically wide eyes at the family as he tried to process what Lydia had just told him. He must have looked like an idiot, he figured when he saw Dream try to hide a chuckle without dropping the heavy box he was carrying. A sharp stab to George’s side by Caleb and his stupid measuring stick brought him out of his stupor. He let out a surprised yelp before composing himself with a glowering stare to his friend. “Why would you do that, you ass hat?” He asked, the threatening stare he was sporting turning more into a petulant pout.</p><p>“If we have to do everything at George-speed, we’ll never get anything done.” Caleb said smartly, smiling at his shorter friend.</p><p>That day had been one of the most fun days George had had in a while. The Harvelle’s had stayed the entirety of the day, putting up shelves, folding his clothes and organizing it in his closet, putting up his few posters and finally his clock – the old clock he had inherited from his parents. He absolutely <em>adored</em> that clock. They ended the day by sharing Lydia’s cherry pie on the floor of George’s newly decorated room.</p><p>George smiled to himself at the memory and zipped up his backpack. Time to face the heat.</p><p> </p><p>Driving made him nervous. His doctors told him that he suffered from a mild case of PTSD, and that driving most certainly would trigger it, but George was not quite sure if he bought that explanation. See, driving, as previously stated, made him nervous, but the jittering feeling of his blood simmering underneath his skin was nothing compared to the suffocating pressure he would feel during normal panic attacks. Compared to that, this was a piece of cake. The company helped as well. Caleb had long since fallen asleep against the window. His mouth was slightly ajar and he was salivating slightly. George giggled and pulled out his phone to snap a few pictures. “Would you send me a few of those? I need bribe material for the future.”</p><p>George giggled softly before turning his attention to his left, where Dream was sitting, looking mildly uncomfortable with the limited space of the backseat. He was fiddling with his phone, one earbud in his ear, as he looked at the screen. “Yeah, sure, just don’t tell him it was my doing.” George replied. Dream had changed quite a bit during the six months he had known him. His voice had dropped an entire octave, leaving the weird spikes of high-pitched pubescent cracks behind. He had grown taller as well, something George thought to be impossible. The Harvelle men all seemed impossibly tall to George, even Caleb, who was only a few months older than George, had three to four inches on him. Dream had already grown over the head of Lydia, who was, what George would describe as, a normal height. She was not much taller than his own mother had been. The weirdest thing that had changed about Dream was the fact that he had started growing a strange, patchy beard. The hair on his face was darker than the dirty-blonde hair on top of his head, and it stuck out at weird places, covering parts of his chin and cheek, leaving other parts entirely bare.</p><p>“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Dream moved in his seat, slipping his phone and earbuds in his pocket before trying to get more comfortable in the cramped space. “Sitting in the backseat does <em>not</em> work for me anymore.” He grumbled out.</p><p>“Boohoo, my name’s Dream and I’m too tall to fit inside a car engineered for people.” George mocked with a teasing smile. Dream let out a surprised chuckle at the younger’s tone and shoved him slightly.</p><p>“Shut up – you wouldn’t be able to relate, gnome.”</p><p>“Ha, just you wait – I’ll grow taller than you some day.”</p><p>“I’ll believe it when I see it.”</p><p>A giant smile spread on George’s lips as he turned more fully towards the older boy. “Yeah?”</p><p>Dream chuckled at seeing the younger’s excitement and nodded enthusiastically, himself. “Positive – why don’t we make a bet?” George scrunched his eyebrows together and sent the older boy a look of pure confusion, which made him roll his eyes fondly. “A bet, kid! You’ll probably be done growing at age 21, don’t ya’ think?” George nodded instantly – he hoped he would be his tall self that he was destined to be at age 21. “Awesome, then we’ll do like a little combined thing – the one of us who’s tallest, come the day you turn 21, has to buy the other a beer!”</p><p>“Clay, stop being a bad influence!” Lydia interfered from the passenger seat.</p><p>“Gambling and drinking beer! What have we taught our son, Lyd?” Ryan exclaimed, bubbly laughter evident in his voice. Lydia joined him, giggling along with her husband. She briefly looked into the rearview mirror and caught sight of George and Clay secretly shaking hands on the backseat. The smile that spread on her face was wide and warm, and she could not help but laugh a bit louder. The sound was pure, unashamed <em>warmth</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The Harvelle’s were a very outdoorsy family. George watched in awe as they moved, like a well-oiled machine, working together to get their tents up in what seemed like seconds to the small Brit. He had tried to help Caleb at first, but the boy pushed him away as George picked up a peg to start fastening to strings of the tent to the ground. “Get outta here, George! Stupid Dweam and I are at war!” He exclaimed loudly. Pressure started to rise in George’s head as the ringing started increasing in volume at the shout.</p><p>“We’re not <em>at war,</em> idiot. You just always wanna see if you can put up your tent quicker than me – which you can’t.” Dream replied with a roll of his eyes before a chucked a small twig after his younger brother. “Stop wasting your breath, Caleb. You’re never gonna win.”</p><p>“You will rue the day I beat you!”</p><p>Dream’s gaze travelled the small clearing they had deemed their camp and settled on George. He looked uncomfortable, Dream could tell. His eyes were closed tightly, as if he was trying to keep something away. “Yeah, yeah – calm the fuck down.”</p><p>“George.”</p><p>George’s eyes shot open when he heard his name fall from Dream’s lips right in front of him. “Huh?” Dream did not repeat himself, just took George’s hand in his and slid his phone and earbuds into the smaller’s open palm. Dream nodded shortly at the tiny boy and patted him on the back before trotting back over to his tent. George looked at the phone in his palm, trying to concentrate on deciphering what the letters on the screen meant in context of each other. The booming in his head was too loud, though. He bit his lip, thinking, <em>to hell with this</em>, before he slid the earbuds in his ears. The ringing faded as the calm music from his favorite game filled his mind. He slid down into the grass and closed his eyes as his cheeks warmed with color. <em>How did you know?</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the long wait! Exams and personal stuff has been hindering my creative flow recently. I hope the chapter is satisfactory and I do really appreciate your guys' comments. Thank you for the support.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As it turned out, the men of the Harvelle family not only enjoyed <em>watching </em>sports, but <em>playing</em> them, as well. After the summer break Dream were to start his sophomore year at high school. The school’s football team had been a disaster last year, and Dream had made it his mission to overthrow last year’s quarterback and take the spot for himself. He knew he was fighting against the odds, but he had a clear vision in his head, of how he was supposed to lead the team to victory at the end of the next school year.</p>
<p>Ryan had been ecstatic, when Dream first had talked to him about being more serious about football. It was not like he did not appreciate how good Dream was at playing computer games, he himself had been quite interested in them when he was younger, but he never to the extent that Dream took it to. He just understood sports better. They had stayed up late at night strategizing, analyzing and re-watching old games. Going camping would not change their intense training. They spent a lot of time running laps, catching and throwing balls and talking about the players of his high school team. George was in awe at their relationship. Ryan had asked him and Caleb if they wanted to join. Caleb had jumped at the chance to compete with his older brother, George had more carefully agreed. The training had stopped for George when he had tried to run for the ball and had ended up getting hit in the head by it instead of catching it. Caleb had burst out laughing when George fell to the ground, clutching the back of his head. Dream had gasped loudly, having been the one throwing the ball, and Ryan had set off, running to the small kid to check if he was okay. Tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes as Ryan pulled him up into a sitting position. “Are you okay, George?” He crouched down to George’s level and wiped away the tears.</p>
<p>He sniffled a few times. “I- I can’t hear you.” He whispered softly. The ringing was back. It had hit as soon as the ball had collided with the back of his head, hitting him instantly and hard, just as the day he had first heard it. “I can’t hear anything.” His breathing began picking up in pace.</p>
<p>“What do you mean, Georgie?” The question was swallowed by the booming ringing.</p>
<p>“I CAN’T HEAR ANYTHING!” Ryan’s facial expression when he screamed at him was one he never would forget. His arms came down around George as he broke into a loud sob. “Pl-please don’t tell Caleb and Dream I’m crying,” he had wept into the collar of Ryan’s t-shirt as he carried the boy to his tent.</p>
<p>“I would never.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was sitting outside Lydia and Ryan’s tent with a bag of frozen peas against the back of his head. Lydia was preparing the grill for dinner. He was watching her, relieved that the ringing had minimized during the last few hours by itself. Lydia was asking him about his opinion on food – his likes and dislikes, what he usually ate when he grilled. He was grateful for the distraction of her small questions. Her nature was so calming, something only one of her children had inherited, and her smile was warm and gentle. She reminded him so much of his own mom sometimes. She had been of the same stature as Lydia, maybe a bit shorter, but just as soft to look at. She, too, had smiled widely each time her eyes would land on George. The last time he had seen that smile was that gruesome evening. She had turned around in her seat, laughing at George as he was talking about which new game he wanted. Her laugh had always set his heart alight with warmth. He remembered how joyous he had been at that moment, seconds before his mom’s laugh turned into a screeching scream, the warmth fleeing from his body, as they swerved on the icy road and he was swallowed by the snow. “Honey, you’re looking quite gloom. Does your head hurt that bad?”</p>
<p>George shook his head, his movements big and over the top. The rattling of his head and the voice of Lydia brought him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looked up at Lydia, his eyes big and vulnerable. “N-no, not anymore.”</p>
<p>Lydia’s gaze was heavy as she took in George’s reaction. She bit her lower lip and laid down the cabbage she had been holding on her hand. She slowly lowered herself down to sit beside George. They were both silent, George scratching nervously at his thumb while Lydia seemed deep in thought. The silence was broken when George turned around in his seat to face Lydia. “You know that it’s okay to ask, right? No one ever asks me anything.” He had uttered, his voice falling in volume as he spoke.</p>
<p>Lydia let out a saddened huff and wrapped an arm around George’s shoulders. “Okay, sweetie – I’ll ask away, then.” She was silent for a while, pulling George close to her side, to her warmth, before continuing. “You know, I can’t help but notice that you have a tendency to- ehm… Wait, no, that’s not how I wanted to start this. Lemme try again, okay?”</p>
<p>George nodded shortly, letting out a small giggle, “Take all the time you need.” He whispered against her shirt.</p>
<p>Lydia nodded and leaned down to plant a small kiss against George’s fluffy hair, “Okay, I think I’ve got it now. You told Ryan that you couldn’t hear anything when you got hurt, and when we first met, you seemed unable to hear me, too. What do you mean, when you day you can’t hear us, honey? Can you describe it to me? I really want to understand.”</p>
<p>“Do you ever get, like, that really whiny sound in your head?”</p>
<p>“Like, a temporary high-pitched, constant sound in the background. It’s like in your ear?”</p>
<p>George nodded excitedly, his eyes wide. “Yes, yes, exactly! Except mine aren’t temporary. They stay, sometimes for hours, sometimes for days. And they are loud, too. They make it so I can’t hear anything else.”</p>
<p>“That sounds awful. Do you know why you hear this sound?”</p>
<p>George shook his head and looked down at his hands. “I’m not sure, really. But it feels like getting suffocated in a dune of snow.” George felt the arm around him tighten, pulling him impossibly closer.</p>
<p>“Snow?”</p>
<p>George nodded again. “Like you feel so cold and helpless that your skin burns, and you can’t move because the snow is so cold and so heavy; like your blood clots up inside of you.”</p>
<p>Lydia hummed beside George. “Well, it rarely snows in Florida, sweetheart.” She whispered softly before pulling George into her lap. Her warm embrace engulfed the young boy and he buried his face in her shoulder. <em>To me, all of Florida is covered in snow. </em>  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>George and Lydia had prepared dinner and the Harvelle’s and George were all sitting around the table. “George you should’ve seen my moves on the field today,” Caleb had said loudly, his arm coming around George’s back to lightly shake him. “I was so good. I almost took Clay on all by myself!”</p>
<p>Dream huffed from across the table and flung a small piece of cabbage after his younger brother. The slice landed in Caleb’s glass and George could not help but to snicker at Caleb’s offended facial expression as the cabbage slowly drifted to the bottom of the glass. “Dream on, little brother. The only reason you could even play with us, was because dad and I sucked intentionally.”</p>
<p>“That’s not true!” Caleb shrieked and removed his arm from around George to point accusingly at Dream. “Dad, tell Clay that I’m ready to go pro!” George cringed at all the yelling, but before he could even identify the beginning of the all familiar tone, he was pulled out of it, when he felt a foot softly collide with his under the table. George scrunched his face up in confusion before glancing at the other side of the table. George’s cheeks turned pink when he was met with Dream’s intense stare. Dream had mirrored George’s expression of confusion, added with a little lift of one of his eyebrows. George was just as a deer caught in the headlights of a car, all wide-eyed and mesmerized by the light that seemed to shine from Dream. It felt like they were staring at each other for hours. The roaring laughter of Ryan pulled the boys back to the conversation at hand, and George hurriedly averted his eyes, looking off to the side to try to hide his pink cheeks. Caleb would without a doubt make fun of him.</p>
<p>“Caleb, you are in no way, shape or form, ready to go pro.” Ryan had pressed out between his wheezing fits of laughter.</p>
<p>“Rude. I am, too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun was soon going down and the Harvelle’s and George has retired to their tents for the night. The tent that George and Caleb was sharing was small and cramped. Caleb was going on; a mile a minute, about how he was sure that football was his greatest destiny. He was squirming and kicking under his blanket to recreate his <em>awesome</em> plays for George. “Oh my God, would you stop kicking at my shin, you idiot?” George asked, pushing Caleb by the shoulder to make some space between them. Caleb just chuckled and kicked him a bit more. A light buzzing sound went off.</p>
<p>“You’re the ball in this scenario, Georgie.”</p>
<p>“You’re so dumb, only the kicker kicks the ball in your <em>stupid</em> American football.”</p>
<p>Caleb guffawed and pushed George back, “How dare you wound my biggest pride of being American?” <em>Buzz.</em></p>
<p>“American football is your biggest pride of being American? You really are an idiot, Caleb.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, at least I’m not British.” George hit Caleb on the shoulder at his remark. Caleb snickered beside him, lightly shoving at George until he too chimed in with his airy giggle.</p>
<p>
  <em>Buzz</em>
</p>
<p>“Would you turn off your phone, dude?” Caleb got out in between his fits of laughter.</p>
<p>“It’s not mine! My mobile is turned off in my backpack.”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s not mine!”</p>
<p>George turned sharply to the foot of their mattress and glanced at the small beam of light that turned on and off. <em>Dream</em>. <em>He still had Dream’s mobile. </em>He hurried into a sitting position and grabbed for the phone. He did not mean to, but as he pressed on the phone to check what made it vibrate like crazy, his eyes flashed over numerous texts, all coming from the same contact. <em>Beautiful. </em></p>
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